


Preoccupied

by orbis_terrarum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Completely Unsexy Dirty Talk, F/M, Hetalia Kink Meme, Humiliation kink, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Short, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbis_terrarum/pseuds/orbis_terrarum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia wants a little attention. On his dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preoccupied

"Do you know what's most pathetic about Austria?" says Prussia, apparently to the air (although he's leaning over Austria's wingchair with his lips almost against Austria's cheek, and his breath smells of wine--cheap or expensive; it smells alike on a drunk man's tongue).

Austria shuffles the pages of the score on his lap, making a sound like _harrumph_. "I'm sure I don't need to hear it."

"It's that Austria lacks balls. Not to say he doesn't have courage--because he can be a real pain in the ass when he wants to be--but I mean he is physically without testicles. You know?" He slips a hand between his own legs, like a gesture (although his fingers linger far too long there, massaging, re-mapping flesh). "Balls."

"I wasn't aware that you were a medical examiner," snaps Austria, reaching up to push Prussia away--and then he finds both of his hands caught and pressed against the back of the chair, and Prussia is leaning over him with the same easy malevolence as always.

His free hand twitches away the score and settles between Austria's legs.

Neither of them is particularly surprised to find that Austria is hard.

"Hmm," says Prussia, as he tightens his grip on Austria's hands and continues his southerly explorations (just as they have done a dozen times before; they know the game well). "So it looks like you do have balls after all. In that case, your balls are mine."

The curtain blows in. A chill runs down Austria's spine, and it has very little to do with the breeze. "Must you use such a vulgar term?" he demands (because making demands mitigates the humiliation of being used).

"What, you've got a better one? Balls, nuts, testicles ..."

"Testes is a-- _God_ \--a p-perfectly serviceable--"

"Testy, aren't you?" He has undone Austria's trousers and slipped his hand inside, all the while holding Austria's gaze. "You never give me any attention. I have to practically kill you to get you to notice me."

Austria gulps. "You can hardly call me inattentive."

"How about you suck me off, since you're paying so much attention?" Prussia smirks, teeth sharp and white and even. "How about it--your mouth, my dick."

"If you _insist_ upon being vulgar--"

"How about this." Prussia rests his knee upon the chair cushion, hauling himself into Austria's lap. "I want you to make love to me with your mouth," he whispers. His breath is hot and wet against Austria's ear. "I want you to caress my arousal with your tongue, draw me into the cavern of your--fuck, sweet talk is for sissies. Just get on your knees and suck me already."

He lets Austria go, hands and crotch (and they'll never need to articulate which one holds him more); Prussia is already undoing his own trousers as Austria sinks to his knees.

There are elements of making love to it; there are elements of caressing; mostly, though, it is Austria whimpering low in his throat as Prussia fucks his mouth hard, gripping him at the nape of his neck and forcing those lips down and down and down again. Austria is stroking himself feverishly, eyes closed, reveling in the sensation of being used (destroyed)--and then Prussia is groaning, cursing, coming heavy over Austria's face.

From behind the curtain, there is a sound like a stifled cry.

They look at each other, long and slow, in perfect understanding. "Be seeing you," says Prussia, doing up his trousers and giving a perfunctory wave.

When he is gone, Austria climbs slowly to his feet and then goes to the window. His wife is there, perched on the window-ledge, her hands gripping the edge of that ledge and her skirt hiked up around her hips. She smells heavily, erotically female; her cheeks are flushed, her skin hot with exertion. "Thank you," she says, raising her hands to his cheeks where the semen still stains his skin. "Thank you."

She parts her legs for him, and he slides into her on the slickness of her own orgasm.

Through the window behind her, he catches Prussia's eyes. His look says, _You can thank me later._


End file.
